


Nothing Better in Heaven or in Earth

by ardentaislinn



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, F/M, Historical AU, Less Than 5k Exchange, Marriage of Convenience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-04-06 11:05:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4219353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ardentaislinn/pseuds/ardentaislinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lady Jemma Simmons needed a hero. Sir Leopold Fitz was not what she expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Better in Heaven or in Earth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [etoilesdeglace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/etoilesdeglace/gifts).



> "Nothing is sweeter than love, nothing higher, nothing stronger, nothing larger, nothing more joyful, nothing fuller, and nothing better in heaven or on earth." ~ Thomas à Kempis, ca. 1418-1427

_Dear Sir,_

_I’m sure you are surprised to be in receipt of this letter. Therefore, I shall get straight to the point. Word of your legend has spread even to my remote corner of England. I hear tales of fire and destruction that you rain down upon your enemies. Your brutality is the stuff of myths._

_To put it rather bluntly, I could do with some of that prowess._

Jemma paused with her quill hovering over the vellum, reconsidering that word choice. She managed to move her hand away before the ink dripped across the words, obscuring them. Vellum was too expensive for her to waste a sheet that way. The ink fell harmlessly against the rushes on the floor. 

_That is to say, my land is in a rather precarious position near the border with your Scottish homeland. There have been many raiding parties in recent months. While I have no fears that my will to stand strong will fade, I begin to worry about my ability, and that of my people, to continue to fight when they are weary. Their crops fade; their sons and daughters are dying to protect this land._

_I would like to hire your services. You are known as the most fearsome mercenary in the land, and we could sure use that strength behind us when the next inevitable raid comes._

Jemma hesitated again, this time thinking over her decision to offer this unknown man, by all accounts a brutal warrior, everything that was precious to her. It was the greatest risk of her life. But she had no real choice if she was to save her people. 

_Unfortunately, with our crops having been razed in the previous raids, our livestock taken, and few young, strong people to tend the fields, I do not have much to offer you. Therefore, I will offer the only thing I have left of value. Myself._

_If you marry me, you will legally own my castle and the land it is situated on. And me, though I prefer not to think of that. I understand that this may seem like a strange offer to you, but it is truly my last resort if I am to save my people._

_Looking forward to your prompt reply,_

_Lady Jemma Simmons_

Jemma carefully placed her quill back in the holder and stared at the page in front of her for a long moment. Then, her decision final, she sanded it, folded it, and sealed it. She flipped it over to write his direction on the front, but realised she had no idea what it was. He could be anywhere in England, Scotland, Wales, or even France. She’d heard rumours from each country as she’d tried to gather what information she could about the man. 

In the end, she just scrawled _Leopold Fitz_ across the front and decided she would have to trust her messenger to find him and deliver it. It was then that it occurred to her that this Fitz may not be able to read her note. It was still a fairly uncommon skill, and Jemma was forever grateful her father had been so liberal-minded. 

In the end, she picked a messenger she trusted, who was good at finding people, and whom had learnt literacy by Jemma’s side, despite not being related by blood. 

Skye left later that afternoon, riding recklessly on her mottled-grey stallion. Jemma watched her go, the fear and hope of her people with her. 

\--- 

Skye returned three endless weeks later. 

“You found him?” Jemma asked before Skye had made it off her horse. “Word is the raids have started again.” 

Skye’s feet hit the dirt of the inner bailey and a stableboy took the reins to lead the horse away. “Hello,” said Skye pointedly. “I did. He’s less than a day’s ride behind me.” 

“He’s coming? He agreed?” 

“Not yet. He wanted to meet you first.” 

Jemma blinked, surprised. “Oh. I wonder why.” 

“Well, he will be married to you for the rest of your lives.” Skye said this as if it were obvious. 

“But he’s not marrying _me_. He’s marrying the castle.” 

“I don’t think that’s how he sees it.” 

Jemma thought about this for a moment. Then, hesitantly, the words crept out before she’d thought them through. “What...what is he like?” 

Skye raised an amused brow at the question. “Surprisingly decent seeming for a man with such a reputation.” 

For the first time, Jemma truly considered the fact that in all likelihood she would soon be married. A _wife_ to a man that she didn’t know. 

\--- 

He arrived with little fanfare. Jemma had been waiting on the ramparts since Skye had returned, nerves increasing with her breath, squeezing her lungs tight. She had expected a man flanked by an entourage of fellow warriors, bearing standards and blowing trumpets. 

What she hadn’t expected was two men riding side by side. One, large and imposing, dwarfing even the large horse he rode on. The other was smaller and more compact. From where she stood, Jemma guessed that was the warrior’s squire, a young lad training in the art of war. 

They rode nearer the gates and Jemma fled down the steps to meet them, her chatelaine clanking with each step. She bunched her dress tighter in her hands as she hurried, hoping it would dry the anxious sweat on her palms. 

She squared her spine and strode directly to the tall warrior. She waited impatiently for him to dismount, then immediately stuck forth her hand. 

“You must be Sir Leopold. Welcome to my home.” She smiled up at the man, broad and dark-skinned and extremely handsome. 

He cleared his throat and his eyes shifted awkwardly to his companion. A sinking feeling began in her gut. 

“I’m Mack Mackenzie,” said the man in a deep voice. “This here is Fitz.” He gestured to his companion, whom Jemma now saw was just small, not actually that young - probably her own age. Regret balled in her stomach. What kind of horrendous mistake had she made? This man was clearly no warrior. And she had just pledged the life of her people into his hands. 

\--- 

Jemma led them into the great hall where a meal had been laid out. Sir Leopold hadn’t taken his eyes off of her yet, but Jemma was sure he would not have been so obvious with his study if he had known she was aware. 

They reached the table. Jemma hesitated a moment before taking the seat at the head of the table, knowing it would like not be hers for much longer. Sir Leopold hovered by her shoulder until she gestured to the seat next to her. Mack sat on his other side, watching his companion closely. 

“So, Sir Leopold,” Jemma began as the food was served. “How-” 

“Fitz,” he interrupted. 

“Sorry?” 

“Please, call me Fitz.” 

“Oh, certainly.” Jemma knew she only had a short window of time to gather as much information about this man as possible before it was definitely too late for her to change her mind regarding this marriage. She filed away every piece of information, every impression about him, trying to discern his character. He was nothing like she expected. Jemma wasn’t yet sure if that was a good sign or a poor one. But she felt it boded well that he was not so precious about his title. 

She cast her mind back to the conversation, trying to remember her question. “How much did Skye tell you about...our predicament?” 

He cleared his throat and cast a glance at the woman across from him. Skye smiled encouragingly in return. Interesting. Jemma knew that look. Skye approved of him. 

“Not much more than you wrote in your letter. Just that some particularly brutal Scottish reivers were causing havoc in the area.” 

“That’s about it, yes. Do you think you can help?” Jemma tried to keep the doubt from her voice, and felt she mostly succeeded. 

Unexpectedly, Fitz gave her a confident grin. Jemma felt her heart flip in her chest and nearly started in surprise. 

“Oh, definitely,” said Fitz. Jemma guessed he was rather looking forward to the encounter. 

\--- 

After the meal, in which conversation had flowed more freely than Jemma had anticipated, Jemma took Fitz aside to her solar. He looked around the room, noting the precious tapestries that her mother had woven and the fine carvings on the mantel. 

Jemma took a seat in front of the fireplace - her usual spot whenever she managed to find some time to herself. Fitz sat gingerly across from her. The more time she spent in his company, noting the small details, the more she suspected that he might not make a terrible husband after all. 

The only thing that remained to be seen was whether he could protect her land and her people. He was clearly no warrior. 

“So, Fitz,” Jemma began, then paused, wondering how to phrase the question. “What would your plan be to protect my people?” 

“You’ve heard the stories? Of the fire and bloodshed?” 

“Yes, of course. I swear they are now being whispered between children with awe in their eyes.” Fitz blinked, seeming not particularly happy about that. 

“That makes it sound like a supernatural fairytale,” he said, clearly disapproving. 

“So you don’t claim that what you do is magic? That’s what many are saying about you.” 

He frowned. “Absolutely not. It’s definitely not magic. It’s...well, you’ll see.” 

“So, that’s your plan?” 

“Well, I’ll basically do the same thing I always do. But hopefully I can adapt it so there is less death this time.” 

“ _Less_ death?” 

“I’d rather deter them, instead of killing them, if I am able. They are my countrymen, after all. They have no doubt been forced into this life against their will.” 

Jemma sat back in her chair, not sure what to make of that. 

“Well, if you are confident that you can do this, then I suppose we should do what needs to be done.” 

“Yes, I better start preparing.” He made a move to get out of the chair. 

“Dusk? In the chapel?” 

He sat down heavily. 

“Sorry?” 

“For the marriage?” 

He gulped. “Oh, yes. That.” 

“You’ve changed your mind?” Jemma wasn’t sure why that thought distressed her so much. 

“No!” Fitz said with more vehemence than was probably warranted, and her heart warmed slightly. “I mean to say that I have been so focused on the fight, I forgot about that part.” 

“If you wish to back out, now is the time.” 

“Do you want to back out? If it truly is a question of payment, then I will fight these invaders for you for the price of room and board for the time it takes. I don’t wish to have a wife that has sold herself to me in grudging payment.” 

Jemma thought about that for a moment, and suddenly the raging storm of worry and confusion from the last few weeks, months, and years calmed in her mind. She knew she had made the right choice. 

“I want you to be invested in this fight. The only way for that to happen is if you are protecting your home. In the event anything happens to me, I need to know there is someone that will continue fighting, particularly if these raids happen again.” 

He looked unconvinced, and Jemma was suddenly very afraid that he would change his mind. 

“If I may make a suggestion,” he began. “Instead of a marriage, we can start with a handfasting. Of the _sponsalia de futuro_ variety. That way, we will have all the benefits of a marriage, but if after a year you change your mind, you can annul the union with very little difficulty.” 

Jemma pondered that, wondering why he seemed so reticent to go through with this. Had he changed his mind after meeting her, but was too afraid to say anything? 

Still, she’d take what she could of him. For her people. 

\--- 

The handfasting took place the next day, as the cold morning mist curled around the stone battlements. Jemma knew she had rings around her eyes from the tossing, turning and worrying she had done all night until she had fallen into a restless sleep just before dawn. 

Skye had taken one look at her and dragged her into a secluded vestibule. 

“If you don’t wish to go through with this, just give me a sign and I will take care of it for you. Promise.” Jemma smiled her first genuine smile in a long while. 

“I know you would. But I’m doing the right thing. I know I am.” Conviction rang in her words and the tension in Skye’s shoulders relaxed. 

“I like him. I hope you give him a chance.” 

Jemma smiled at her friend. “I will keep my mind open to possibilities,” was all she would admit. But Skye knew her too well and her grin widened. 

“Good,” was all she said. 

Then, the ceremony began and it passed by in a blur of sights and sounds that Jemma couldn’t even begin to process. It wasn’t until all the “I plight thee my troth” words were spoken that the world slowed down to normal speed and Jemma realised it was the traditional time for a kiss. She turned to her new husband, knowing the question was written across her face. She could feel the anticipation of the crowd, her people who had taken time off work to come and watch the ceremony. 

She could see in his eyes the moment he made his decision. He let go of her hands and Jemma nearly made a sound of disappointment until they came up to gently cup her jaw. He stepped forward, so close she could feel his tunic rustling across her chest with every breath. His lips stopped a hairsbreadth from hers, waiting, asking permission to continue. Jemma answered by closing the gap and brushing her lips across his. 

The kiss was sweet and restrained, no more than a brief meeting of lips. But she felt the tremble in his hand, betraying the barely contained passion within him. 

Then, it was over in a rush as he stepped back and everyone else surged forward, congratulating her with their smiles and handshakes. She knew that her people had wanted her to be married for a long time - both for the sake of her own happiness and the future of the land. She couldn’t begrudge them their joy at this day, even if the reasons for the ceremony were not quite as they may have expected. 

The feasts began in the Great Hall, and Fitz stayed by her side the entire night. His hand brushed against hers repeatedly, until she was breathless with a feeling of want that she had no desire to put words to. 

When the celebrations had ended, and her people had returned to their homes, Jemma returned to her chambers. Her maid and Skye helped prepare her for the evening ahead, bathing her in lavender infused water and braiding her hair. When they were finished, she climbed into her bed and waited. 

And waited. 

Until it became all too clear that Fitz had no intention of joining her for their wedding night. Upset, but not willing to consider the reasonings behind the emotion too deeply, Jemma slid out from under the covers, put on a robe, and marched to the guest room she had put Fitz in the night before. 

She listened at the door. She raised her arm, but the sound of clanks and grunts from the other side made hesitate to knock. After a particularly loud crash and a fairly obscene curse, Jemma fled. She couldn’t help wondering what he was doing in there, and why it was so important that he would rather do that instead of consummating their union. Jemma wondered if there was something wrong with him, and then she wondered if there was something wrong with _her_. Her mind vacillated until she stopped, brought to a halt by the sight of a door in front of her. 

In her haste and worry, Jemma hadn’t returned to her room. Instead, she had found her way to her sanctuary. Knowing she likely wouldn’t get any sleep that night, Jemma opened the door and slipped inside. 

The knot in her chest eased at the sight of the precious glass beakers and rows upon rows of herbs and substances that surrounded her. She didn’t even need the moonlight streaming through the cracks in the shutters to know where everything was. She took a deep, calming breath before lighting some candles and getting to work. Nothing soothed her quite like experimentation in her stillroom. 

She was still there when morning dawned. 

\--- 

The next day, Jemma saw Fitz had already begun breakfast by the time she made it to the Great Hall. He smiled at her, closed lipped as his mouth full was of food. The warmth in his eyes seemed genuine, and her confusion from the night before crept back in. 

She sat down beside him, and began filling her plate with foods. “Did you stay up late after the celebrations last night?” she asked, talking around the question she really wished to ask him. 

His ears went curious pink. “Not too late, no.” 

“What were you...working on?” 

“Just...plans,” he said evasively. 

Jemma let the subject go, but didn’t fully give up her annoyance. “What are your intentions for today?” 

“More of the same,” he said. “How about you? I imagine you have lots of duties to run this place.” 

Pride washed over Jemma at the thought of her homeland. “Yes, lots to do. But I wouldn’t change any of it.” Her eyes slid over to him. “Unless I had to, of course.” 

Fitz didn’t miss the innuendo. His voice grew soft and sincere. “I’m not here to take over, Jemma. I wouldn’t do that to you. If you need my help, please ask and I shall provide it. Otherwise, please continue as things were and I will try to stay out of your way.” 

“Oh, that sounds...great,” Jemma told him with a slight rigidity in her smile. The fact that he said he had no plans to oust her from her position in the castle did please her, of course. But it sounded awfully like he was going to avoid her unless he had to see her, and that didn’t make her nearly so happy. 

Before Jemma could decide if she wanted to talk to Fitz about their future as a couple, Skye bounded over to the table with a mischievous grin. 

“And how are the two lovebirds this bright and fine morning? I hope you slept well.” 

The humiliation and frustration of the previous evening crashed over her and Jemma stood up suddenly. The scrape of the bench sounded terribly loud to her ears. She gathered herself together enough to say, “Skye, please don’t,” before striding out of the room with all the dignity she could muster. 

Just before she exited the Great Hall, she heard Skye hiss to Fitz, “What did you _do?_ ” 

Jemma was in no mood to defend him. 

\--- 

She didn’t see much of Fitz over the next few days. Occasionally they would cross paths at meal times, or she would see him in the distance talking to a local with the kind of focus that showed he was really listening. Fitz had also taken to standing on the battlements for long periods of time, surveying the area with a critical eye. Often Mack joined him, not saying much but seeming to keep an eye on his friend. 

But most of the time he was nowhere to be found. 

Not that she was looking for him. She certainly was not. But it was a small castle and they were bound to run into each other regularly. Or so she told herself. 

Still, when they did manage to talk to each other, she found they had a lot in common. He’d had a similar upbringing to her, until his father had been killed and his lands taken. Fitz had been forced to sell his sword to provide for his family. She learned, in fits and snatches, about his life on the road, the muck and grime and misery of travelling from place to place with no home to return to. He told her stories of how he had met Mack and the adventures they had been on together. 

In return, Jemma told him about her family, her life. She told him about her people and her land and even touched on her worries for the future. But never once did she mention their wedding night, and the questions still burning within her. 

She also avoided mentioning her secret room above the stairs, and what she did there in her evenings. It was hers, and hers alone. She knew he was holding something back from her, and she had no intention of letting him into her private sanctum until they had built a more solid foundation for their relationship. 

Until, one evening, she no longer had a choice. 

\--- 

It started as usual, with Fitz retiring directly after the evening meal. 

Jemma stayed less than an hour longer, talking to Skye about her plans for the next day. Once the fire had died down to embers and Skye began yawning hugely, Jemma retreated to her room, Skye no doubt close behind. 

She felt like she had been asleep only moments when a loud knocking woke her up. Skye burst into her room as if the furies were on her heels, panting hard. Jemma sat up, instantly alert. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“We’ve just had word that the raiders are less than a day’s ride away. They could even arrive tonight, though tomorrow is more likely.” 

Jemma was instantly out of bed, throwing a robe over her nightgown as she talked. “It’s alright, Skye. We’ve been expecting this. It just came a little sooner than we might have liked.” 

Skye nodded, taking a deep breath. Jemma stepped forward and wrapped her arms around the woman that was as a sister to her in every way that counted. “We’ll get through this, just like we did the last time,” she whispered. “And we’ve got help now, too.” 

She felt Skye nod against her shoulder and let her go. With one last squeeze of Skye’s hand, Jemma left the room, her arms crossed to ward off the chill of the deep night. 

She made her way to Fitz’s door and listened for a moment before knocking. Wary of the sounds she had heard the last time she had tried this, Jemma waited nervously as footsteps came towards her. The door cracked open and Fitz squinted out, his hair sticking up at odd angles. 

“We’ve run out of time,” she told him urgently, not caring if she had woken him from his slumber. “I hope your plan is in place, because they could be here within a few hours.” 

Fitz’s eyes went wide and he let out a string of inventive Scottish curses. “I thought we’d have more time.” 

He let go of the door and turned into the room, seemingly no longer aware of her. As the door swung open, it revealed the source of the noises the had been emanating from the room. 

There was a large machine, mostly made of wood, that sat on two wheels in the middle of the room. Hollow pipes the width of her fist fanned out from the top, and Jemma remembered seeing something similar that fired multiple arrows at once. 

“Is this your secret plan?” she asked, running her fingers over the rough wood in curiousity. Fitz snapped around, as if surprised she was still there. 

“It was meant to be,” he said, sounding equal parts frustrated and dispirited. “But I doesn’t work the way I was hoping it would.” 

“What were you hoping it would do?” 

“It is meant to put an invading army to sleep.” 

Jemma stared at him, fascinated. That wasn’t at all the answer she had expected. “How?” 

“Well, you put a liquid in here,” he indicated a tube at the top, “and it sprays it out.” 

“And why isn’t it working?” 

“The mechanism is fine. It could do with a few manipulations, but it will do the job. The problem is the formula.” 

Jemma’s heart started beating faster in excitement but she kept her voice calm as she answered. “And what do you need from the formula?” 

“Originally I designed this so it would spray this chemical through flames and rain fire down on invading armies.” He cleared his throat. “I suppose that is where the stories began.” 

“But you’ve been trying to adapt it to be non-lethal?” 

“Right,” he said with a decisive nod. “But I can’t find the correct mix to create the perfect strength to make the army sleep, but not kill them.” 

Jemma hesitated only a moment before taking his hand and running a soothing thumb across his knuckles. “Come with me. I think I have something that might help.” 

He looked up from their joined hands and his awed gaze landed on hers. Their eyes locked, pulling the connection between them taut, quivering on the brink of some kind of precipice. Then, Fitz nodded, and broke eye contact. The tension between them lowered to simmering embers. 

She dragged him out of the room and up the stairs until she reached the door of her private room. He looked around in wonder as she shut the door behind them. 

“This is incredible,” he breathed. “All yours?” 

Pride warmed her chest. “Yes, I’ve been collecting it all for years.” 

“You’re an alchemist.” 

“Of the scientific variety, yes. No lead into gold, I’m afraid.” 

He waved his hand, dismissing that. “Not possible. But this is amazing.” He turned to her, eyes intense with a feeling that made her breath catch in her throat. “ _You_ are amazing.” 

“Thank you,” she whispered, wondering when the last time was that someone had expressed that sentiment to her. She cleared her throat. “But we should get to work.” 

He blinked. “Yes. Right.” 

So began a long night of work, mixing and adapting various substances, all with the pressure of imminent violence that could be thrust upon them at any moment. Despite that, Fitz and Jemma worked in perfect tandem, shoulders brushing as their minds connected in the most intimate of ways. 

Just before dawn, they knew they had it right. The liquid was the perfect consistency, and Jemma knew it would have just the right power to knock out a fully grown man. 

Mack must have already brought Fitz’s machine out to the battlements, as it was waiting for them as they arrived with waterskins of their new creation. They stood next to Mack and Skye, looking out over the empty field in front of them as dawn rose above the horizon and cut through the morning mist. 

The world was silent, breathless and waiting. 

A glimpse of movement appeared on the glimmering horizon. It came closer, swimming through the mist and coalescing into an army of a hundred strong, bearing torches. Not as many as Jemma feared, but enough to do irrevocable damage. 

By wordless communication, the group waited, as Jemma heard her people gathering in the bailey behind them. 

“I’m sorry you have to fight your countrymen,” Jemma said suddenly as she watched the warriors group below them. 

“I’m not,” said Fitz. She felt his hand slip into hers and squeeze softly. “It’s for you.” 

She turned to him in time to catch his small, sad smile. She took a breath, determined to say something, anything, about those revelatory words. But it was too late. A war cry sounded beneath them and the men rushed towards them. 

In unison, she and Fitz poured their sleeping mixture into the machine. Mack was there and ready, and as Fitz gave the signal, he pulled the lever, spraying the liquid over the men beneath them. Jemma’s heart galloped furiously in her chest as she waited. 

And waited. 

They had already reached the wall by the time the first one fell, and Jemma breathed a sigh of relief. Another dropped, and then another, until half the army lay beneath them, blocking the path of their brothers in arms. The remaining warriors stopped, their heads turning as if searching for something. Even from her vantage point she could see the fear and confusion on their faces. 

Their weapons began to drop with clunks of surrender that echoed over the lonely fields. The remaining men began to back away, with cries of “witches!” and other Scottish words she didn’t recognise. 

When they had disappeared back the way they came, Jemma turned to Fitz. Her heart leapt in relief. “It worked,” she said with a grin. She still couldn’t quite believe it was over. 

He smiled back. “I’m glad the Scots are a superstitious folk.” 

“What now?” she asked, suddenly feeling at a loss. She had been building to this moment for so long that now it was finally here she wasn’t quite sure how to proceed. 

“Now, Mack needs to watch our friends down there while I talk to you,” Fitz said to her without looking at his friend. His eyes were glued to Jemma. Mack gave a brief nod that Jemma caught. As she allowed Fitz to lead her off the battlements, she caught Skye’s teasing grin. This time her only response was to smile. 

Neither of them stopped until they reached her bedroom, somehow finding their way there instead of any of the other more appropriate rooms. 

Fitz turned to her after she shut the door, taking her hands between his. Warmth travelled up her arm from the contact. 

“Now is your chance to dissolve this handfasting,” he told her in complete seriousness. Jemma blinked, shocked. 

“You want to end our marriage?” she asked, her voice small. 

“ _No,_ ” Fitz said with gratifying vehemence. “But now that I have done as you required of me, since I doubt any of those reivers will be back any time soon, it is your chance to be rid of me. One word and I will be out of your life forever, no contest.” 

“I...Fitz, why didn’t you come to me on our wedding night, or any night since?” she asked, heart in her throat as she waited for his answer. They were on the brink of something, Jemma could feel it in the tightening of her skin. 

He rubbed the back of his head, red staining his cheeks. “I...ah, thought that was the deal. You cannot annul a handfasting if it has been consummated.” 

“ _You_ were the one that said you wanted a temporary handfasting.” 

“Only because I wanted to give you a choice!” 

Jemma paused, letting his words sink in. She couldn’t find it within herself to feel ridiculous over the miscommunication. Everything was falling into place. 

“So, what would you say if I told you I didn’t want to annul the handfasting?” she whispered, sliding closer to him. 

His hands landed on her hips. “I wouldn’t say anything,” he told her, his voice low and gruff. “I’d just do this.” 

He leant forward, their lips meeting with a questing firmness. “I suppose we better consummate our marriage now. Just in case,” she whispered against his lips. 

“Right,” he replied. “Just in case.” 

They laughed as they fell back on the bed. Outside, the sun rose on the first day of the rest of their lives. 


End file.
